


Turn to Stone

by thestubb



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: F/M, Whump, he doesn't die i promise, i just like hurting my babies, i love making people suffer, kaladin!whump, shallan!hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 20:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15848547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestubb/pseuds/thestubb
Summary: When a routine scout turns deadly for Kaladin and Shallan is kidnapped, it will take all of her strength and cunning to survive-and all of Adolin's to get his wife back while making sure his friend doesn't die in the process.Shameless Kaladin!whump. Lots of violence.





	Turn to Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Pure Kaladin whump for the sake of Kaladin whump. I regret nothing. This will probably wind up being a three parter so keep an eye out for the rest of it.

It was hot.

Shallan wiped a drizzle of sweat trickling down her neck with a grimace, the fabric covering her safehand already stained with salt and the grime of the desert. The horse underneath her flicked flies away with its tail, annoyance written on its face. She hadn’t been aware animals could express irritation to the maximum degree with such clarity, but she stood corrected. Or, rather, rode corrected. Despite the oppressive heat, she allowed herself a huff of laughter and turned her attention towards the person riding in front of her.

“Are you satisfied yet?” she called, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. She’d attempted to throw it up and off her neck, but that hadn’t done much to alleviate the frizz or its sheer refusal to stay away from her face.

Kaladin’s face was turned away from her, and thus unreadable, but the added rigidness to an already normally stiff back and the way he didn’t respond to her request told her that no, he was not, in fact, satisfied. His shoulders pressed down, his black hair swept up in a messy ponytail as only Kaladin could do, he still didn’t seem to be as affected by the heat as herself. Storms take him.

Shallan nudged her horse forward until she was on level with the captain. “Are you still alive?” she questioned.

“I am, but you won’t be if you keep interrupting my concentration,” Kaladin snipped, pausing his scrutiny of the surrounding plains to glance down at a map.

“I made that map, I promise it’s sound,” Shallan said.

Kaladin nodded without saying anything and pursed his lips. “Why here?”

“What do you mean,” Shallan sighed.

“Dalinar seems oddly set on this as a spot sanctioned for refugees, but it’s in a great tactical position. I don’t understand why he’d want to give it to refugees.”

“Maybe because if you tried to fight out here you’d boil alive in your suit,” Shallan scoffed. “I’m pretty sure I’ve gone through three layers of skin since we’ve been out here. By the time we get back, I’ll be one big blister. Try explaining that to Adolin.”

“Something tells me Adolin would thank me,” Kaladin said absentmindedly, making some kind of markings on the map in his hand. “Maybe then he’d get a moment’s peace.” He jumped as the horse underneath him shifted to the side, his face settling into a scowl as he readjusted himself. “Storming animal.”

Shallan huffed. “I should smite you where you stand.”

“You can’t smite me, I’d heal and then smite you back.” Kaladin passed the back of his hand over his forehead. “Besides, I didn’t tell you to come.”

“I thought it’d be nice to get out, I just didn’t realize it would be 7,000 degrees outside.”

Kaladin shrugged. “Not my problem.” He turned away, nudging his horse forward a few steps, then tossed a piece of cloth over his shoulder. “Tie it over your hair.”

Shallan fought the smile she found on her lips and looped the light cloth over her hair, tucking in the errant strands. Storm the man. Even when he was pretending to be mad, he had to be the one taking care of anyone and everyone in his vicinity—at that moment, her.

At her side, Pattern buzzed. “Mmm.”

She looked down. “What’s wrong?”

Pattern vibrated, his movements seeming distressed. “Something—something is wrong. Mm. Wrong. Dangerous.”

Without hesitation, Shallan nudged her horse forward towards the once-again wandering captain. “Kaladin?” she called. His back was towards her, but his head was turned, and she saw his lips move as if he was in conversation with an invisible person.

“Mmm?” he hummed as she approached, stopping her horse once she was level with him. She stretched out her hands for the map. “Can I see this map, please?” she asked, her voice sickly sweet. Kaladin’s brow quirked as he handed it over. She bent her head over it, appearing to study it intently. “Pattern says something’s wrong,” she said lowly, keeping her lips from moving overly much.

Kaladin nodded and bent his head towards her, pointing to a spot on the map like they were discussing it. She was impressed at how easily he caught on and engaged in her ruses. “Syl’s been saying the same thing.”

“What do we do?”

Kaladin pursed his lips and looked out over the horizon, “surveying” the land. “Don’t startle them. We’ll ease out of here, then slowly work the horses into a run back home. On my mark, say we should go home.” He tugged the map from her and wiped a hand over his forehead, peeling away the sweat beading on his skin, his back tensing as he casually looked over their surroundings. “Now.”

“Look at you, you’re soaked,” Shallan said loudly. “That’s enough for today. Dalinar will not be happy if you die of heatstroke.”

“Dalinar will not be happy if I come back with an unfinished report,” Kaladin retorted, his voice echoing.

“You have one. You’ll recommend the camp be somewhere else. Now, Bridgeboy,” she said, and he began rolling up the map.

“I suppose you’re right,” he sighed, and tucked the map into his sidepouch. She watched him keep his right hand free, ever ready to call Syl to aid, and the back of her neck crawled as she imagined all the unsavory characters watching her, ready to attack. He knocked his heels gently into the sides of his horse, turning it around and beginning to lead it home.

“Be ready,” he murmured as he passed her, and Shallan was about to nod an affirmative when an arrow streaked down from the sky and caught Kaladin solidly in the right side of his chest.

“Kaladin!” Shallan screamed as he toppled from his horse, the momentum of the arrow sending him tumbling head over heels to land in a heap on the ground. Dust went up in a billow as he landed, a strained cry tearing through his teeth, but his battle training got him up and rolling to the side almost as soon as he hit the sand, clutching his chest.

“Go! Run!” he shouted, flinging his free arm to the side as he staggered to his feet. His eyes were filled with terror as he gestured wildly, blood staining the cracks of his fingers. Shallan dug her heels into the sides of her horse without hesitation, following Kaladin’s orders without question. There was something about him that, in his element, and with fear coursing through her veins, led her to do what he said without argument. The cloth in her hair tore off as she urged her horse onward, breath stolen from her lungs, and her horse had just galloped three paces when a heavy arrow shot through its neck, sending it staggering to the side. Kaladin screamed her name as her horse reared, its hooves kicking the air in pain. Shallan just barely managed to hang on, clutching at the sides of the animal’s neck as it tottered on its heels, then came crashing down to the ground. It hit the ground running, and even though its steps were lopsided, she could just barely hold on.

“Shallan! Jump! Jump off!” she heard Kaladin yell over the pounding of blood in her ears. Praying to anything and everything listening, Shallan drew in a deep breath, slid her leg half over the horse’s back, and flung herself haphazardly to the side as the animal began to fall to the ground. She hit the sand in a flurry of skirts, feeling the wind get knocked out of her. Her feet slipped out from under her body and her head knocked the ground, sending stars dancing in her vision. She struggled to draw in a breath, her lungs protesting every movement as she tried to force herself to move.

Suddenly Kaladin’s sure, booted feet thundered to the ground next to her and his hands scooped her up. “Up, Shallan, up,” he commanded, hauling her to her feet. She staggered and fell into him, coughing hard as air filled her lungs again. “Come on come on,” he chanted, pushing her forward and throwing a wild glance over his shoulder. “Shelter—get to those rocks up there, see them?”

Shallan nodded wordlessly and managed to collect herself, gathering up her skirts and running towards the rocks with all her strength. Arrows fletched with black feathers whipped the ground around her, but she managed to avoid being hit and threw herself behind the rocks with a wild abandon. Kaladin quickly followed, hitting the ground with a puff of sand and coming to a stop beside her. Chest heaving, he leaned around the rock, eyes darting as he scanned the surrounding land.

After a cursory glance, he turned back to Shallan. Sweat dripped down his forehead, settling in the cracks of his scars. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Who are they?” Shallan asked, struggling to keep down the wild panic rising in her chest.

Kaladin shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, then winced. His hand fluttered to his chest again. “What? Syl—what are—Syl—” He looked off in the air, concentrating on his distracted spren and not the arrow still protruding from his flesh.

“Let me see,” Shallan said, brushing aside his hand. He leaned back against the rock, looking to the side again, as Shallan summoned Pattern as a knife. She ripped the small hole in the cloth larger, slicing the fabric to see the wound better. She sucked in a deep breath and released Pattern, letting her fingers dance over the edge of the wound.

Stormlight should have healed it by now, but the wound was already seeping deep, dark blood. Black shot away from the wound in tendrils, like Odium himself had poisoned Kaladin’s veins. Like spiderlegs. Like death was creeping through his body.

“Kaladin, why aren’t you healing this?” she asked, then, before giving him a chance to respond, she reached up and snapped the shaft in half. Kaladin let out a sharp, loud groan through his teeth, starting in pain at the sudden jarring motion. “Sorry,” she said, then reached up and took the cloth from her hair to dab at the wound.

Kaladin hissed in pain, but let her, distracted again by Syl. “What’s going on with you—Syl—”

“Kaladin!” Shallan snapped. “Heal yourself!”

“I can’t,” he said. “I think I’m out of stormlight.” He looked down at the wound and swallowed hard.

Shallan’s stomach sank. “I’m—I have some. Here.” She dug into her safepouch and procured a few spheres, holding them out to him in the palm of her hand. He closed his eyes and breathed in.

Nothing.

Something cold trickled through Shallan’s veins.

He scowled and breathed in again; this time, the light begrudgingly lifted off the spheres and into his skin. The black veins on his chest withdrew half an inch, and some of the color came back to his cheeks. Still, his forehead glistened with sweat, and the faded blue eyes that opened had a glassy sheen to them.

Why had it taken so long?

Kaladin twisted away from her to peer around the rock once more. His fingers twisted in the sand, the congealing blood on his fingertips caked in grit. Shallan was silent as he calculated their next move. After a tense moment, he turned back. “Do you have enough stormlight to cast an illusion?”

Shallan nodded.

“Cast yourself running from this rock to that one on the left, see it there? With any luck they’ll shoot and give away their position.”

Shallan nodded again and wiped the back of her hand over her forehead. Her stomach curled in knots on itself, nausea boiling up in the back of her throat as she concentrated. She felt Kaladin’s breath on the back of her neck, hot and labored. Oh, Storms. They were going to die.

Stop it, she reprimanded herself. Drawing in a deep breath, she conjured a light version of herself to stand and make a break for the large, jagged grouping of rocks Kaladin had pointed out to her. Halfway to the a shelter, an arrow zipped down from the sky, just barely missing the illusion. Kaladin gave a soft huff of triumph, his eyes immediately drawn to that direction. “Send Pattern to go see how many there are. If there aren’t too many, we’ll—”

Reflected light glistened on the rocks behind Kaladin’s shoulder.

“Duck,” Shallan said, and as a man dressed in black revealed himself behind Kaladin, raising a sword high, Pattern appeared in Shardblade form in Shallan’s hand, just in time for her to drive it hilt deep into his chest. His eyes glazed over, smoke puffing from underneath his lashes, and he slumped to the ground.

Kaladin and Shallan stared in confusion for a moment.

“They knew we would do the illusion,” Shallan whispered.

Kaladin met Shallan’s eyes. He extended his hand, the dark skin of his calloused fingers reaching out. She took it without hesitation, knowing whatever happened in the next few minutes, there was an almost sure chance of them dying. “Run,” Kaladin whispered, and suddenly he was pulling her across the sand and out into the open towards another large rock outcropping.

Shallan had never run so hard in her life, beating the ground with her feet as fast as she could. She skidded and slipped, but Kaladin hauled her upwards again and continued pulling her along. “Come on, Shallan,” he panted, “come on—”

And then he stopped short, Shallan barreling into his back and smacking her nose, as another man in black seemed to materialize out of the rock in front of them—thick, tall, muscled. Carrying a sword and a knife on his belt. He rushed at the two of them, but Kaladin shoved Shallan to the side. She stumbled to the ground as Kaladin ran towards the man, outstretching his hand for Syl—except that she didn’t come.

With a yelp of surprise, Kaladin just barely managed to turn his attack into a dodge, bringing the hand he’d raised down to slide underneath the other man’s swipe.

“Syl!” he screamed, bringing up his hand again. “Syl, I need you!” His attacker brought the knife down above Kaladin’s head. Kaladin met his forearms with his fists, grabbing the bare skin and straining against the stab. The two men strained against each other, sweat dripping off their foreheads and noses. Then, with a practiced grunt, Kaladin loosened his grip enough to quickly duck underneath the man’s prone arm, grab the knife at his belt, and in the same breath turn around to drive the knife underneath the man’s jaw and into his throat.

The man collapsed, gurgling and clutching at the knife lodged in his jaw. Kaladin staggered to the side, clutching his chest. The whole thing had happened so fast, Shallan hadn’t had time to move from her place on the ground, and she stared at him with wide eyes. Breathing heavily, he extended his hand again. “Come—come on,” he said, chest heaving. Shallan nodded and took his hand, standing up. His hands were sticky with blood.

“We’re just going to have to run for it,” Kaladin said. Sweaty tendrils of hair were stuck to his neck. “We’re just going to have to run for it and send Syl or Pattern to get someone, and just keep running. Okay?”

Shallan nodded, resisting the urge to give into the hysteria she felt rising. Kaladin must have seen the rising panic written on her face, because he gripped her hand tighter. “Hey. Hey,” he said, reaching up and holding the sides of her face. Looking her in the eyes, blue piercing blue, he said, “I’m going to get you out of this. Do you understand? You are going to get out of this.”

Shallan nodded and licked her lips, her mouth dry and ashy. She sucked in a shaky breath and nodded again, swallowing hard.

Kaladin looked at her for a moment longer, then nodded himself, knocking the side of her face affectionately with his palm. “Come on,” he told her, already starting to run, “just don’t stop.”

They emerged from the rocks, only to be met with an approaching group of around ten warriors in similar garb to their previous attackers. The two immediately slowed down, Kaladin pushing them back so their backs were to the rock. “Come on, Syl,” he said lowly, and after a brief flicker, she materialized as a spear in his hand. He breathed an audible sigh of relief, his hand tightening around the shaft.

“Pattern,” Shallan said, “You need to go get help for us, now.”

Pattern buzzed, vibration at a furious pace. “Who shall I ask?”

“Get Adolin, and Bridge Four. Tell them to hurry as fast as they can—You saw the map, you know where we are.”

“Mmm. Be careful, Shallan.” With one last vibration of concern, Pattern disappeared from Shallan’s sight. He was going to get help, that was true, but that left her minus a weapon, something she didn’t relish. She didn’t begrudge Kaladin his experience as a soldier, and knew he needed Syl, even if she was slightly malfunctioning at the moment. Still. She would have liked to have her Blade at her side.

“Stay close,” Kaladin said lowly. “The worst thing that could happen is for us to be separated. If you get a chance, pick up a sword—I’ll try and get one for you if I can, but don’t be afraid to grab one. Can you cast some distractions?”

Shallan nodded. “I don’t know how much stormlight I have, but I will for as long as I can.”

“Sometimes that’s all you need,” Kaladin said. “On my mark. ….now.”

Shallan immediately breathed out. Five different versions of she and Kaladin stepped away from them. Some stayed close together, some immediately went for the attackers and split up. Kaladin rushed forward to join them, raising Syl high above his head. Syl seemed to have recovered from her earlier lapse, and she glowed strong and true as she met the downward sweep of an attacker’s sword. As the sound of the concrete object hitting the man rang through the air, each of the attackers turned towards them, now warned of which of the illusions was real. Shallan immediately retracted the illusions and sent them back out again, doing it over and over as Kaladin warred with his opponent. Syl was a blur as he whirled and stabbed with her, easily killing two men almost without breaking more of a sweat than he already had. Shallan rushed to one of the fallen bodies and snatched his sword; it was hefty, but she could lift it without too much trouble, and she’d rather have something to defend herself with than nothing. As Kaladin lunged for another attacker, leaving another collapsed body in his wake, a smaller figure in black rushed at Shallan. A woman.

Shallan raised her sword to meet the downward strike that came with the woman, straining against the movement. Their weapons rang against each other, accompanying the sound of Kaladin’s fighting to Shallan’s left. Remembering Adolin’s training, she focused on moving fluidly, parrying and stabbing with a speed that seemed not her own. The woman flung her sword into Shallan’s and she strained against the weight, sweat dripping down her neck and across her collarbone. The woman’s eyes glinted harsh and dark, her eyebrows furrowed as she glared into Shallan’s eyes.

Shallan smiled.

The woman’s eyebrows popped up in confusion, and Shallan used the moment of lost concentration to twist her blade and ram it into the woman’s stomach. She dropped to the ground, blood soaking her front as she gurgled into silence. Without giving herself time to comprehend what she’d just done, Shallan whirled around, her dress flying and sweat dripping into her eyes.

Kaladin had somehow managed to make short work of the other people, leaving him surrounded by collapsed bodies and blood-stained sand. His chest heaved, and he staggered to the side, his hand traveling up to clutch at his chest. Something black leaked through the remnants of his ragged shirt.

“Let’s, let’s go,” he panted, his face pained. “I think—something’s—let’s go—”

Without warning, the tip of a sword slammed through his chest, the hilt buried in his back. He let out a high-pitched scream through his teeth, his hands pawing at the blade, and a man clad in back and hidden in the rock lifted him into the air. Impaled on the blade, Kaladin scrabbled for the blade, his blood-slicked fingers slipping as he kicked at the air, agony written on his face.

“Kaladin!” Shallan screamed, horror stealing her breath. The man in black brought his sword down and ripped it from Kaladin’s chest, depositing the Herald in a slump on the sand.

Kaladin didn’t move.

“Kaladin!” Shallan screamed again, rushing forward. Feeling a sudden burst of fury, of rage, of energy she didn’t know she still had in her, Shallan ran forward and cast an illusion of three of herself hurtling towards the man, who brandished his sword. Taking advantage of his confusion, she switched places with the illusion on her right and ran towards him. As he grabbed for one of her pretend selves, she swung her sword into his neck. Though it didn’t decapitate him as she had hoped, his neck was half severed, and he fell to the ground in a spray of crimson.

Without paying attention to her victim, Shallan fell to her knees, grabbing fistfuls of Kaladin’s shirt fabric to pull him to his knees. She heaved, his toned body proving heavy in a deadweight, but managed to settled him in a slouch. His eyelids peeled back, his eyes unfocused and rolling in his head as she grabbed the sides of his face. With a start, she realized his eyes were a deep brown. He slumped forward and Shallan pulled him back up, smacking his cheek.

“Kaladin! Kaladin, heal yourself! Kaladin!” she screamed at him, cupping his jaw and bringing his face close to hers. Blood dripped from the side of his blue-tinged lips. Shallan sobbed and shook him. “Heal yourself! Syl!” she sobbed, her hands shaking. “Syl! Where are-”

Strong hands grabbed her waist and snatched her backwards, pulling her away from Kaladin.

“No!” she shrieked, kicking and straining against the hands that constrained her. “No! No no no!” Sand sprayed up around her feet as she fought her captor, but the arms circled her waist and dragged her away. She sobbed and fought, her nails raking along skin, but another set of hands grabbed her hands and bound her wrists together. “Kaladin! Kaladin!”

Slowly, she was pulled away and a cloth was placed over her mouth. Struggling, she rushed to pull away from it, but was unable to breathe, and as she gasped for air she already felt the edges of her vision tinging with black. As she felt herself tossed onto the back of a horse, her movements growing lethargic and uncoordinated, she looked backward, Kaladin’s name still on her lips.

He sat where she had left him, slumped on his knees, the front of his chest bleeding crimson down his chest and the sand around him and surrounded by corpses. He didn’t call for her, and he didn’t reach for her.

And as Shallan’s vision faded to black, she knew her best friend was dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to hell; enjoy your stay.


End file.
